


except backwards and in heels

by pigeonstatueconundrum



Category: Jurassic Park (Movies), Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fear of Motherhood, Post-Movie(s), Pressures of being a Woman in Power, Women In Power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 10:52:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4134744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pigeonstatueconundrum/pseuds/pigeonstatueconundrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a woman on the cover of every newspaper, magazine and television broadcast. She stood bloodied, bold, and resolute in grainy CCTV footage, her face lit by the red flare she held aloft. They make much of her clothes, her hair, her high heels. But Claire can see nothing but the desperation in the face disenable even in low quality resolution. This woman the media have decided to mythologise and vilify in measure. Claire cannot escape her because she must be her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	except backwards and in heels

**Author's Note:**

> I saw Jurassic World and found myself fascinated with Claire Dearing. A lot of the criticism i have seen leveled at her character has been about her desire for a baby.   
> Whether that makes her a bad character or not is another issue. I just thought it would be something interesting to explore.
> 
> hope you enjoy.

 

Claire collapses to the ground. The pain of her knees as they hit the hard floor doesn’t register as she sucks air into her burning lungs. Every drop of blood seems to throb as it makes its way to her sapped muscles. She sets her single handed focus on regulating her breathing, every exhale pushing away the blurring from the edge of her vision.  The trembling in her limbs has stopped enough for her to push sweat dampened bangs from her eyes.

 

 The presence she feels come to squat by her triggers the last of the adrenaline not dissipated by the exercise.  Despite her limbs feeling like jelly and the fire in her lungs Claire’s brain insists she must move. She tapes down that flight or fight response with less ruthlessness than she would have a few days ago. Claire has been forced to appreciate her own animal instincts. Her human inheritance, that Prehistoric hind brain, had been proven right after all. It isn’t paranoia if they are out to get you.  

 

But she is safe, Claire insists to her herself. The mirror mantra of the survivor. Claire takes one last deep calming breath and bares her teeth in the closest thing her adrenaline will let her get to a smile.

 

Owen is reaching his hand towards her. Palm flat and open as it moves tentatively towards her heaving chest.

 

“You need to slow down.”

 

Claire sigh comes out in a harsh huff. Owen means well. “I can take it.”

 

And she could. As with all aspects of her life there had been meticulous planning. Fitness blogs run by suburbanites to professionals bookmarked in efficient folders on her laptop. Scientific journals on calorie intake and shiny periodicals with white teethed amazons promising a better body tomorrow neatly stacked on the coffee table.

 

Of course there had also been clothes. The sweat pants and loose fitting T-shirts she once would have disparaged as trapping of the weak willed have become her second skin. Claire has forced herself to don this new armour, learning to take pride in the scuff marks on her new trainers as proof of her conviction.

 

“I know you can.” Owen says. Once that placating tone would have ruffled her the wrong way, like a magnet pushed off course by unruly iron filings. It has taken Claire a while to realise ‘I know you can’ doesn’t always mean ‘I know you _think_ you can’. The latter she has heard so many times in the snide comments about her age and sex throughout her career. Claire refuses to apologise for her own self-preservation instincts, even in her own head.  Owen, as always, means well but she does not have that luxury.

 

Bracing herself, Claire stands relishing the hard won burn of her muscles. She feels stronger now she is not a foetal ball of exhaustion on the gym floor. For Owen’s sake she pretends she did not see the hand he offered to help her up. It would be rude to let him think she did not need him.

 

His hand drops to nervously flex at his side. Claire stands in stillness as she watches the question anxiously form on Owens tongue.

 

“Why are you doing this?”

 

Their wounds from Isla Nublar had barely had time to settle when the picture had been published. They had joked about how to handle the fall out, of course. But it had been in a tentative distancing way, making light of the inevitability of it all in the hope that when they had to deal with it they would be strong enough to do so. Owen had struck heroic poses and play acted a press conference. He’d addressed his tale of heroism to the plants and lamps in the hotel room, exaggerating his own actions in a way that made it all unreal enough to ignore their very real consequences. And Claire had needed that then, so she had let Owen talk her into believing that just this once she would survive this day and the next.

 

There was a woman on the cover of every newspaper, magazine and television broadcast. She stood bloodied, bold, and resolute in grainy CCTV footage, her face lit by the red flare she held aloft. They make much of her clothes, her hair, her high heels. But Claire can see nothing but the desperation in the face disenable even in low quality resolution. This woman the media have decided to mythologise and vilify in measure. Claire cannot escape her because she must be her.

        

It was now inevitable she would have to speak to the press, and soon, before the media storm camped around the devastated Jurassic World whipped into a self-destructive frenzy. Unfortunately Owen’s philosophy of letting tomorrow deal with its own problems was rubbing off on her.  

 

But then Claire’s life had always been ruled by inevitabilities others have defined her by. It was inevitable that she would not be able to command the respect of someone older. It was inevitable that InGen’s Publicity department would take greater interest in her appointment. It was inevitable, they said, that she would want a baby one day.

 

Claire had never hated her own body, her own mind as much as with that last one. Because she did want a child, she did. It was considered inevitable that she would choose the betrayal of her own potential and give into a prehistoric impulse to procreate. Claire would, some day, willingly transfer her power and agency to a creature that couldn’t even speak. By creating life it was expected she would destroy her own.

 

Claire wanted a child, she did. But she did not want the fear that she would come resent her own flesh and blood. It was easier to hate herself, blaming a weakness in her body than a scruple of the mind. Professional goals and gender workplace pioneering preceded her own selfish desires.

 

She could hate Owen in those moments too. Everything was deceptively simple with him. What she had first perceived to be superficial machismo was actually and an unpretentious openness. There was cheesiness about Owen Grady to be sure, but it was an authentic cheesiness. Owen made those expectations others had of her seem unconnected and uninportant. Claire felt she could be her own person but feared it was only achievable by being his.

These thoughts had kept her awake and restless. Her days had been full of fruitless emails and phone calls that only went ignored by her superiors.  Claire had felt directionless without the Park to run. She drifted through her days try to squash the voice in her head that would not believe she was out of danger. The moment Claire tried to close her eyes she found herself recalling every time she nearly stumbled over branches, when she almost didn’t turn the van quick enough, how her legs nearly failed her with the T-Rex’s footsteps thundering behind her.

 

And so Claire ran. She lifted weights. She did stretches and calisthenics and tried to fill her wasted days with movement.  They said that woman had saved over 20 thousand people, she deserved the praise a strong hero is owed. They said her negligence murdered hundreds; she must be a resilient bitch to live with that weighing on her soul. Claire Dearing needs to be everything that photo suggests and more.  

 

Back in the moment with Owen staring with worried eyes at her, Claire tries to smile. She reaches out and lets Owen wrap his arms around her shoulders. He tucks a stubborn strand of hair behind her ear his every move telegraphing gentleness and acceptance.

 

“If I’m going to survive this,” Claire murmurs, finding the strengths to speak comes easier when Owen isn’t looking at her with wide unassuming eyes. “I need to be stronger.”

 

“You’re plenty strong.” Owen argues, arrogance in his tone not from a belief in the infallibility of his own opinion but Claire’s own perceived merit. “Hey.”

 

When she looks up he’s smiling down at her and she could almost believe him. “It’s going to be okay.”

 

“Owen.” Claire sighs. He means well. “You can’t just say it’s going to be okay.”

 

“I can.” Owen grins lightly pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She feels his arms tighten, needing to hold her close as his expression become serious.

 

“You know.” He stops his eyes uncharacteristically shy. “You know if you need anything…”

 

Claire tried to smile reassuringly, “I can look after myself.”

 

“I know that.” Owen admitted giving her hand a quick squeeze. “What I said about us sticking together. I meant it.”

 

Claire averted her eyes not wanted to examine what that earnest expression was doing to her. She hated how Owen made her feel sometimes. “I don’t want you to feel obligated. You should feel you need to protect me”

 

“I don’t feel that.” Owen replied. “I mean I want to help you and I need you to help me.”

Claire feels the breath of his frustrated sigh brush across her scalp, “I’m not very good at this.” He admits.

 

His admission startles a genuine laugh out of her. Clare shakes her head, “You really are’nt.”

 

It strikes her at once what Owen has lost. He too has his purpose shattered in the fall out of the Parks destruction.  With his raptors gone she is all he has. Moved, Claire presses her lips to his, going with instinct. It has kept her alive this far perhaps it will keep her happy too. Claire feels the tension she hadn’t realised Owen was holding dispel as he relaxes into her arms.  Returning her kiss with gentleness she knew she could get used to.  

 

“I don’t need a protector,” Claire says resting her forehead against Owen’s, “I’d love a friend though.”

 

“Just a friend?”

 

“We’ll see.” Claire replied.

 

Claire’s life will always be ruled by inevitabilities and sometimes her life will not be okay. She can be stronger if she wants, if she needs. She can be stronger for those she has failed, for those she saved, for Owen, for her future child.

 

Just as long as she is strong for herself first.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are so very very much appreciated.
> 
> I'm at http://pigeonstatueconundrum.tumblr.com/ if you want to say hi.


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